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Alien Offer

Sevcik, Al

Published: 1959

Type(s): Short Fiction, Science Fiction

Source: http://www.gutenberg.org

Also available on Feedbooks for Sevcik:

• Survival Tactics (1958)

• A Matter of Magnitude (1960)

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"YOU are General James Rothwell?"

Rothwell sighed. "Yes, Commander Aku. We have met several times."

"Ah, yes. I recognize your insignia. Humans are so alike." The alien

strode importantly across the office, the resilient pads of his broad feet

making little plopping sounds on the rug, and seated himself abruptly in

the visitor's chair beside Rothwell's desk. He gave a sharp cry, and an-

other alien, shorter, but sporting similar, golden fur, stepped into the of-

fice and closed the door. Both wore simple, brown uniforms, without

ornamentation.

"I am here," Aku said, "to tell you something." He stared impassively

at Rothwell for a minute, his fur-covered, almost human face completely

expressionless, then his gaze shifted to the window, to the hot runways

of New York International Airport and to the immense gray spaceship

that, even from the center of the field, loomed above the hangars and

passenger buildings. For an instant, a quick, unguessable emotion

clouded the wide black eyes and tightened the thin lips, then it was

gone.

Rothwell waited.

"General, Earth's children must all be aboard my ships within one

week. We will start to load on the sixth day, next Thursday." He stood.

Rothwell locked eyes with the alien, and leaned forward, grinding his

knuckles into the desk top. "You know that's impossible. We can't select

100,000 children from every country and assemble them in only six

days."

"You will do it." The alien turned to leave.

"Commander Aku! Let me remind you … "

Aku spun around, eyes flashing. "General Rothwell! Let me remind

you that two weeks ago I didn't even know Earth existed, and since acci-

dentally happening across your sun system and learning of your trouble

I have had my entire trading fleet of a hundred ships in orbit about this

planet while all your multitudinous political subdivisions have filled the

air with talk and wrangle.

"I am sorry for Earth, but my allegiance is to my fleet and I cannot re-

main longer than seven more days and risk being caught up in your de-

struction. Now, either you accept my offer to evacuate as many humans

as my ships will carry, or you don't." He paused. "You are the planet's

evacuation coordinator; you will give me an answer."

Rothwell's arms sagged, he sunk back down into his chair, all pretense

gone. Slowly he swung around to face the window and the gray ship,

standing like a Gargantuan sundial counting the last days of Earth. He

almost whispered. "We are choosing the children. They will be ready in

six days."

He heard the door open and close. He was alone.

Five years ago, he thought, we cracked the secret of faster-than-light

travel, and since then we've built about three dozen exploration ships

and sent them out among the stars to see what they could see.

He stared blankly at the palms of his hand. I wonder what it was we

expected to find?

We found that the galaxy was big, that there were a lot of stars, not so

many planets, and practically no other life—at least no intelligence to

compare with ours. Then … He jabbed a button on his intercom.

"Ed Philips here. What is it Jim?"

"Doc, are you sure your boys have hypo'd, couched, and hypno'd

the Leo crew with everything you've got?"

The voice on the intercom sighed. "Jim, those guys haven't got a

memory of their own. We know everything about each one of them,

from the hurts he got falling off tricycles to the feel of the first girl he

kissed. Those men aren't lying, Jim."

"I never thought they were lying, Doc." Rothwell paused for a minute

and studied the long yellow hairs that grew sparsely across the back of

his hand, thickened to a dense grove at his wrist, and vanished under the

sleeve of his uniform. He looked back at the intercom. "Doc, all I know is

that three perfectly normal guys got on board that ship, and when it

came back we found a lot of jammed instruments and three men terrified

almost to the point of insanity."

"Jim, if you'd seen … "

Rothwell interrupted. "I know. Five radioactive planets with the fresh

scars of cobalt bombs and the remains of civilizations. Then radar

screens erupting crazily with signals from a multi-thousand ship space

fleet; vector computers hurriedly plotting and re-plotting the fast-mov-

ing trajectory, submitting each time an unvarying answer for the fleet's

destination—our own solar system." He slapped his hand flat against the

desk. "The point is, Doc, it's not much to go on, and we don't dare send

another ship to check for fear of attracting attention to ourselves. If we

could only be sure ."

"Jim," over the intercom, Philips' voice seemed to waver slightly,

"those men honestly saw what they say. I'd stake my life on it."

"All of us are, Doc." He flipped the off button. Just thirty days now,

since the scout ship Leo's discovery and the panicked dash for home with

the warning. Not that the warning was worth much, he reflected, Earth

had no space battle fleet. There had never been any reason to build one.

Then, two weeks ago, Aku's trading fleet had descended from

nowhere, having blundered, he said, across Earth's orbit while on a new

route between two distant star clusters. When told of the impending at-

tack, Aku immediately offered to cancel his trip and evacuate as many

humans as his ships could hold, so that humanity would at least survive,

somewhere in the galaxy. Earth chose to accept his offer.

"Hobson's choice," Rothwell growled to himself. "No choice at all."

After years of handling hot and cold local wars and crises of every de-

scription, his military mind had become conditioned to a complete disbe-

lief in fortuitous coincidence, and he gagged at the thought of Aku "just

happening by." Still frowning, he punched a yellow button on his desk,

and reviewed in his mind the things he wanted to say.

"Jim! Isn't everything all right?"

Chagrined, Rothwell scrambled to his feet, the President had never

answered so quickly before. He faced the screen on the wall to his right

and saluted, amazed once again at how old the man looked. Sparse

white hair criss-crossed haphazardly over the President's head, his face

was lined with deep trenches that not even the most charitable could call

wrinkles, and the faded eyes that stared from deep caverns no longer ra-

diated the flaming vitality that had inspired victorious armies in the

African war.

"Commander Aku was just here, sir. He demands that the children be

ready for evacuation next Thursday. I told him that it would be damned

difficult."

The face on the screen paled perceptibly. "I hope you didn't anger the

commander!"

Rothwell ground his teeth. "I told him we'd deliver the goods on

Thursday."

Presidential lips tightened. "I don't care for the way you said that,

General."

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